


Mukti Bhavan (Mansion of Salvation)

by Doodles_of_the_last_page



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, British India, Crowley Gets a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Indian Classical Dance, Monarchy, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snippets, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), To Be Continued, Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), anti-nautch movement, crowley makes new friends, kathak, pre-independence India
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodles_of_the_last_page/pseuds/Doodles_of_the_last_page
Summary: After the holy water fight, Crowley goes away to the Asian side of the world to get away from the angel, Hell and Europe. He reaches to pre-independence India and stays there to renew his experience of the culture after a few hundred years...He learns the culture, language, art, searching for something different and shenanigans (although not so much as new adventures!) ensue coupled with Indian classical dance and music...Does he find love? does he re-discover himself? and most of all, can he find  his own Salvation in a rebelling-for-independence country?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing it for quite a while now and still it is going to be a long work as far as considering the story that I have mapped out. I just wanted to explore Crowley in the Eastern culture background with a musical journey since I first saw David Tennant walk as Crowley, I was so sure that Crowley would be an excellent dancer! As an Indian classical dance and music enthusiast and student myself I wanted to dabble in this particular AU. 
> 
> And I haven´t found someone to beta read the story so if someone would want to join me in the venture to guide they´d be very very welcome! So far all the mistakes are my own
> 
> Also, I have written something continuous in the story but also some snippets and one-shots which will be later inculcated in the story as continuous links but now will be posted as individual chapters.
> 
> P.s.- The characters Aziraphale and Crowley do not belong to me! This is just a piece of fiction and that too written by a fan. And I do not mean to be rude or disrespectful towards the present Great Britain or British people and all the historical refences to the British empire of India will be presented as factually as possible after conduction of thorough historical research. Still, reader´s discretion is advised. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the story! It is just a story so I again emphasize to take it as one. So take care, stay safe and enjoy!

After the big fight in 1862 over the holy water, Crowley was devastated. He wanted to go as far as possible from the angel and Heaven and Hell and all the occult, ethereal and biblical beliefs. So, he decided to travel East. To the Indian sub-continent. It had been a while since he had visited it. Not after Alexander's defeat.

It really was a beautiful place with an entirely different culture than he was used to after centuries of traveling around Europe and little bit of middle East. Plus, he wanted to lay low for a while, not attracting any attention from head office or the angel if he tried to find him.

He travelled a bit around the northern part among the Himalayas. It was too cold for him, but the alcohol was strong and food was spicy to keep the cold at bay. And it was immensely beautiful. Even with the people struggling for independence from the empire, they were welcoming and cordial. And Crowley wanted to help. The so-called Christian empire that the British were trying to establish annoyed Crowley to the extent of siding with the Indians. He learnt Urdu and Hindi and hailed himself from Kashmir to blend in. He dyed his hair dark brown too- just so that they almost looked black from far. His pale skin worked in favour of being from Himalayas as he sauntered downwards towards the plains of Ganga.

He had started to grow his hair long again. He liked it that way. Roaming around and fomenting chaos from city to city, eventually he reached Fatehpur. The once capital of Mughal emperor Akbar, was now a part of Agra in the upper province governed by the east India company in the name of the Queen. The city that once had been a hub of Hindustani art and music and literature was reduced to its ashes as shadows of the radiant past lurked behind in the ruins.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continued from the previous chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The classical songs and poems that are mentioned or will be mentioned are not written and/or composed by me.  
> Some of the songs are very old and sung traditionally through generations in the Hindustani classical music. I have provided the link if you want to listen and enjoy the beautiful melodies!  
> as for the poetry, couplets and so forth, the poet will be mentioned exclusively. If not, then it could be considered as the author´s original creation!

It was around midnight when Crowley was swaying very drunkenly in an alley, there was a chill in the air as it was late October but the madeira was a warming company. Not far away from the alley, he heard a melancholy tune being hummed. The language seemed very similar to Hindi, maybe a dialect from around these parts, accompanied by a stringed instrument. The tune was refreshing, haunted and sorrowful at the same time. Crowley was mesmerized by it as his legs pretty much involuntarily started walking in that direction.

As he neared the sound, music was more apparent to him. The lyrics audible and more discerning.

"Yaad sataaye din raina… aaye na un bin chaina, mitwa…” ***[the classical thumri](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfBvz2rG-NI&ab_channel=darbarfestival)**

The pain in the voice echoed through him distinctly reminding him of a certain angel. Entranced, he walked further, through the rows of shabby houses on the streets where the ground floors were used for shops and other activities. Coming to an end, the street ended in a ground not so well kept. Must have been a nice lawn back in the days. Then he saw the mansion. Old, rustic, but huge. One part of the wing was lit with light spilling from the windows, music streaming more clearly now. The other part was incoherently dark. He entered the gates unrestricted by anyone and made his way up the stairs.

He entered a room mildly lit with chirag (Indian earthen lamps) and chandeliers all around. It was huge and large, plush mattresses covered in silk sheets were adorned around, leaving a circular arena in the middle where there was a lady; who looked like she was in her early forties or late thirties, sitting with a light blue churidar pyjama and matching long Anarkali dress with silver brocade around the bust and the frills, reaching almost up to the ankles with full sleeves, a chunri (scarf like thing) to cover the head loosely which was adorned with a tika (a head-gear of Indian origin) on the right side. Other jewellery included simple but elegant stone-studded earrings and a matching set of ´haar´(necklace). The palms of hands were adorned with henna, the eyes accentuated with ´kaajal´ (traditional Indian eyeliner). She was singing the song- which was called `thumri`- as Crowley would learn later, that lured him. He stood at the brink of the room leaning as much as he could to the door, away from the prying eyes of the performer as well as the audience on the mattress. The singing was accompanied by a bunch of musicians playing various instruments. They were a tanpura, a sarangi and a tabla as Crowley would come to know later, which were traditionally used in the Hindustani classical music.

The lady singing was not conventionally beautiful, but had seemed to age very gracefully and the chirag were illuminating her countenance giving her an otherworldly glow, especially in the presence of the music which had put an enchantment around the whole room. After a few minutes the song ended but the trance remained. There was so much silence in the room that a flap of butterfly´s wings would be audible. After a while, the lady got up, brushing a stray tear from her eye and gestured `adaab` to the audience breaking the spell. Everyone applauded with similar adaab, accompanied with `wah-wah`s and `bahoot khub´ (very good). The lady went and sat cross-legged with the musicians after making an announcement of the next performance which was to be a dance by someone known as Kashaf.

A girl, perhaps in her twenties came on the stage- where the lady was perched before. She was wearing similar costume but with addition of ghunghroos (anklets with little bells tied to them). She touched the feet of the older lady, then acknowledged the patrons with an adaab and signaled to the musicians to begin. She took her position as the lady again started to sing a slow alaap and then started the dance with the first beat of the tabla. Her legs moved in synchronization with the beats and the sounds of ghunghroos and tabla coincided with precise rhythm. Her hands moved gracefully with the music of the sarangi, with various mudras. The lady started another song which went something like-

“Lat uljhi suljha ja baalam…

Haath mein mere mehndi lagi hai,

Mathe ki bindiya gir gai sej pe…

Apne haath sajaa jaa baalam…” ****[the classical thumri](https://youtu.be/gRQ8g97HbB8)**

Crowley understood the lyrics, the tone and the meaning behind the song at which he could not help but blush (very unbecoming of a demon) - the stupid human corporation had a mind of its own at times (better to blame it on the body- it was simpler that way) at the romance depicted by the priceless, impeccable, beautiful expressions of the dancer. The song, dance, the tunes, the music and the ambience, all of it created a plethora of emotions in Crowley which a demon should technically not be able to feel. He could feel the lust from the patrons but it was diminished by the strong feeling of love from the performers and himself. It was sweet and bitter, filling and emptying at the same time; leaving him satisfied and longing for someone. He knew exactly for who he was pining but was too prideful to let his thoughts stray to that particular entity. He decidedly did not think about The Garden, where a particular divine someone had caressed his stray curls on the wall after the rain had stopped; sending beads of water flying all around. He decidedly did not think of those soft hands tracing through his long hair with gentleness he´d not felt in a long, long time.

The song ended, flinging him back to the reality. The dancer bowed to the patrons who praised her not only with appreciative ´wah-wah´s but also with adorned her with flowers, garlands; the affluent ones (which many of them seemed to be) bestowing ornaments be-jeweled with gold, or silver, studded with expensive stones, from their own person to the feet of the dancer and the singer as an act of honour and reverence. They said their goodbyes with ´shukriya` and ´shabbakhair´. The hall emptied slowly and the musicians started to pack up their instruments and leave; only the dancer and the singer left behind. Crowley was still hiding behind the door, having missed the whole after performance interaction, in his own thoughts, head swirling with newfound chaos of emotions.

The younger girl left after discreetly pointing the older lady towards the door into what seemed akin to an ante chamber. “I think you can come out of your hiding place now, dear!”, cooed the lady. Crowley froze on the place. Not because he was afraid- demons weren´t afraid of mere mortals, oh shut up you- he was just shocked is all. Considering himself to be a good lurker (he´d tried to learn it from Hastur, who was excellent at lurking, with a little bit of success), he was surprised. Unpleasantly so. He remained still. “I know you´re there, behind the door. Don´t be shy! What are you afraid of? You don´t have anything to gift for the performance, is that it?”, came the voice which managed to be sweet and sly at the same time. He gingerly stepped forward. He clearly had nothing to be afraid of, but somehow the lilt of authority in the voice urged him to obey all the same.

The lady gives a once over to the stranger who was hiding behind the door, presumably watching the performance secretly. He is clad in a tight black long kurta which had turned brown due to the deposition of dust on it with a similar salwar. He is wearing strange dark glasses with silver rims, hair is long, curly looking utterly disheveled and full of dust. High cheekbones and jaw that could cut glass, lips stretched in a thin line, has a hint of perpetual frown around them. He is lean to a nauseating degree as if he´s had nothing to eat for days, feet devoid of any sandals. Even with all sharp edges and angles, there is something soft about him; a sense of sorrow radiating from him which makes the lady think that he´s not a mere beggar but a very troubled soul- she could sense a troubled soul a mile off; it was her bread and butter after all. Happy people seldom visited kothas-the houses of ill-repute.

“So, what sorrow brings you here, my friend? If you´re here seeking for salvation, you´re at the wrong place I´m afraid. And if you´re here seeking comfort for the night, you´ll need money which I don’t think you have and this is not that kind of a place, whatever you´ve heard from the people- not to be rude.”

The demon cowers slightly at the scrutiny and bluntness of the lady. He is persuaded to go with honesty, “I don’t really know why I´m here. The music dragged my feet here without my permission, I´m afraid.”

“I´m flattered. A man of taste clearly. But as you have no more business here, I´m sorry but I´ll have to request you to leave.”

Crowley really doesn´t want to leave. He feels that he belongs here. With the music and dance and the songs. He bows a little with an adaab and reluctantly traces his steps out of the haveli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gist of the meaning of the songs:  
> * I am remembering you day and night my beloved... awaiting your return...  
> ** (The curls have fallen apart,  
> Please braid them my beloved   
> As my hands are covered in henna…  
> Bindi of my head has fallen on the bed,  
> Adorn me with it again)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from previous chapter

He finds out that the lady who runs the place, was a famous courtesan and an expert of Kathak and classical singing in her time is known as Shaukat Begum.

The haveli is under the patronage of the Nawab of Fatehpur, Nawab Zulfikar Ali Shah; who now does not hold a poignant place among the Royals of India as he does not approve or support of the British Empire. The locals still hold him in high regards. The Nawab, now in his late fifties- does not venture out much and has no family. The only son of his father, he never married has a distant niece as an heir, likely to inherit the money but not the title or the kingdom. Royalty is dying a quick and definite death in India. If the British ever leave, it is not likely that monarchy will return to India. There is no point in holding on to the past. Oddly, the Nawab shares the vision of the Indian National Congress of a Republic of India.

Next night he finds himself again at the doorsteps of the haveli. He takes his place discreetly by one of the windows, curled up against the `jharookha` (small balcony). This goes on for a few days. If Shaukat Begum notices, she doesn´t call upon him. One night after the performance when he´s walking out the main gate after everyone has left, Kashaf catches upto him. She holds his wrist and jerks him to face her. “Who are you? Why you´ve been visiting every night, hiding in the shadows like a snake?”, she states irritatingly. Crowley involuntarily snorts at the comparison to the snake, annoying the girl more. “What is so funny? Are you a thief? A bandit? Plotting to rob us? Who sent you? Are you working for the angrej sahibs (Britishers)?”

“No. No. I´m… (he had to think of a name which sounds Indian-can´t very well use Crowley! He´s come here to lay low and blend in) I´m called Nakshatra. I mean no harm. Please. You have to believe me. I…I just come here to watch the dance.”

“Then why watch it from the shadows? Why not come in like others?”

“I have no money or anything really to offer to you. And I wouldn´t exactly be welcomed, would I?”

“Oh.”, she says, deflated. “So, you really don´t want to rob us?”

“You think I´d have waited so many days? And would I have stayed for your performance?”

“No. I don´t think so. Didn´t make sense to me either; just had to ask!”, she looked at him intensely and even with the glasses her dark eyes seem to stare deep. “You don´t look like a thief. Or a bandit. Look at yourself. I don’t think you´d be able to open the locker and take valuables. It is quite heavy!”, she laughed.

Crowley was offended. He tried to send menacing aura towards her which fazed most humans and wanted them to go away from him as soon as possible. Much to his dismay, Kashaf didn´t budge. “Why do you keep returning then?”, she prodded, not letting his wrist go.

“I don´t really know. Can´t control myself.” She studied him for a moment, her expressions as if trying to solve a complex mathematical problem.

“Hmm. You feel like the music is calling out to you, don´t you? Can´t help but sway to the rhythm, right? It plays certain strings in your heart you didn´t know you had!”

“How do you know that?”, Crowley was astonished at the eloquence.

“Takes one to know one.”, she smirked playfully.

“I want to learn how to dance. I want to learn Kathak.”, Crowley blurted out of nowhere.

She was silent for some time and Crowley grimaced at his own stupidity. Now he could not even come to watch. Kashaf contemplated, “It will be difficult. Obviously, because you´re a man. Not impossible, but difficult.” Crowley saw a ray of hope. “I´ll do anything in return! Please.”, he begged. Now, demons, as a rule of thumb most definitely did not beg- but keep in mind that Crowley is not the very best of the demons.

“I think I have an idea. Meet me tomorrow at the main bazaar near the biggest bangle shop at noon!”, she said with barely contained glee and pride at her own genius, disappearing into the darkness of the haveli; leaving the demon dazed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> direct continuation from the previous chapter

Amongst the cacophony of noises varying from the lowest to the highest frequency, Crowley walked in the middle of the harried bazaar the next day. He had gone a little early in order to explore the shops. There were a few large sturdy-constructed stores amidst the litter of bodegas, hole-in-the-wall shops and some of the local and travelling salesmen were seated on the ground by the footpath. It was a normal busy day, people passing through, some hassling, haggling over the prices, some window shopping and the vendors trying to lure customers into business. Almost all types of commodities one could think of, from shoddy knick-knacks, accessories to expensive gold and stone jewellery, clothes, utensils, woodwork, antiques, books food and drinks, and so much more was available. It was the largest and the oldest marketplace in the city.

Crowley felt unusually upbeat puttering through the bazaar, viewing the shops, glimpsing if something caught his fancy- trying not to buy anything. There were so many hand-made collectibles that he thought the angel would love. He could accurately picture the angel beaming when- if he were to bring him a souvenir. How he´d thank the demon- lighting up like a bright little nebula. He´d bring him here one day hopefully.

The bittersweet memory of Aziraphale did put a miniscule damp on the whole prodding but it evaporated in the heat of excitement that he was going to get to learn Kathak- that is, if all goes as per the girl´s plan. He loitered around the bangle shop some time before noon waiting anxiously for the idea and its bearer. Kashaf was punctual, he happily noted. She gave him a gentle wave as she saw him from afar. She was clad in a simple light blue salwar kameez, head adorned with a chunri to escape the heat of month of May.

The demon approached her with a cautious smile lurking beneath his calm demeanour. He had yet to figure out this stranger who´d just agreed to help him on such a short acquaintance. She seemed genuine so far and what ulterior motives could she have? But being a demon came with an innate boat-load of anxiety, insecurity and trust issues. And his time on Earth had not made them any better.

“Adaab!”, greeted Kashaf. “It´s really hot today isn´t it?”

Ahh the humans and their small talk! “Yes, it is. So, how are you?”

“All good. Shall we?”

“Oh yes. What was your idea?”

“You´ve not spent much time around here socially, have you?”

“Umm…no. why?”

“Hun…thought so.”

“What´s that supposed to mean?”, he was getting a tad irritated. How dare she judge me after meeting for literally two minutes!

“Nothing. Let´s just- I want to buy some bangles and then we can talk. Have you had anything to eat?”, she radiated calm. It was specifically unnerving.

“Okay.”

They approached the shop and kashaf got herself busy trying various shades and designs of glass bangles. After half-an hour he was following her through the crowd to some shoddy looking establishment. Crowley was intrigued that his companion entered the place like she owned it. It was rare in those times for girls to openly visit places with strange men in their company. She wasn’t even wearing a burqa or hijab or ghunghat (traditional headscarf). The place was full but devoid of any women to corroborate his line of thought.

“I know it´s a little ragged but the kebabs here are worth dying for. The main chef comes from the long line of Mughal khansaamaas (cook). His ancestors used to work for emperor Akbar.” The demon tried to look impressed. He´d not been much for food anyways. If not for the angel, he´d not have indulged in it.

He followed her to the table where she took the liberty to order for them both. In no time, plates of kakori kebab and tunday kebabs accompanied with naan, some pickles and cut onions appeared. The aroma was really mesmerizing- Crowley had to agree to that.

“So, your parents named you Nakshatra?”, there was a twinge of surprise.

“No. no parents. I named myself Nakshatra.”, ambiguity was the best option for now. And technically it was the truth- he´d chosen the name himself, even if it was in a state of panic, it counted, alright?

“Oh. Impressive name I must say! Very royal name for a pauper.”, she giggled.

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on! Look at you. You´d be eating at the langar if I´d not be treating you to the kebabs.”, she added cheekily. The demon acted deflated.

“I get that you´re new here. don´t exactly have the complexion or hair of this region.”

“Yeah. Came down from Kashmir.”

“A farishta (angel) from Jannat (heaven)!”. Oh dear, this girl didn´t have a filter at all.

“Look can we discuss the idea now? How are you going to help me?”, the demon loathed to divulge more information. For some reason he didn´t want to lie to Kashaf. There was something different about this girl- he very much wanted to find out what.

“Ok! Sorry for prying. I´d normally like to know a person before I invite them to my abode.”, she backed off.

“Invite? What do you mean?”

“I was thinking that I´d get you into the Haveli as a servant. Once you get access to the whole environment, you can first observe and study a little more. I´ll help, of course.”

“And then what?”

“Then we could work on getting Shaukat Begum to accept you as her shagird (student).”

“How do we convince her?”

“I haven´t thought about that yet. This is just first part.”, she shrugged.

“Hmm…could work.”

“So, what you think? Acceptable? It´s not like you have much of a choice. You are new. You´ll be needing work anyways I presume. And you begged my yesterday that you´d do anything!”

“ _Hey! I did not beg!_ I just…you know appealed …a little…”, the demon was flustered.

“ _Oh, you so begged!_ ”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. Kashaf chuckled with a gleam in her dark eyes.

“What sort of house-hold work can you do? Although it´d be nice if you knew how to work in the garden. We do need a new gardener for a while now.”

The demon´s eyes sparkled (not visible due to the glasses). He could not believe his luck. He gave a toothy grin to her. “Then you´ve found the perfect person! I´m an excellent gardener.” Modesty was not his strong suit.

“Wow! This is serendipity! I´d say welcome to our house, Nakshatra! Start from tomorrow?”

“Absolutely!”

The discussed the rest of the logistics like wages and the demon also got a small cottage in the garden to live in. It was absolutely fantastic. Crowley smiled genuinely in years, and wasn´t it a sight to behold! To celebrate the new job, journey and also friendship (at least on Kashaf´s part, the demon was still little closed up), they drank shikanji (a form of lemonade) to get relief from the hot weather and parted ways. Crowley could not stop smiling the whole way to his rented rooms as he had a subtle bounce in his step. He could be happy for a while- keep aside his misery; its not like anyone was watching or cared! He was a free demon here!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in direct continuation of chap 4. the now chap 6 is the earlier chat 5- which was the one shot.
> 
> P.s. For the 5 people who are reading! Thank you for indulging me! 😅 I'm grateful!!💙
> 
> I'm not very happy with this update but hope I'll be of sound mind to write something decent.
> 
> The updates will be slow as I am little busy but I haven´t abandoned the fic yet.

The next day Crowley- Nakshatra reached in the morning to the haveli. He was bubbling with nervous energy, even prepared for a temptation in case it was needed. To his surprise, Kashaf was waiting for him as he was led by Tungrus, the cook who also did some other household work to the divan (main hall). Kashaf stood by the chair where Shaukat Begum was perched, who lit up on seeing Nakshatra. Apparently, she´d already discussed it with her before-hand.

“So, the sneaking serpent of the man had returned!”, Shaukat begum joked with a twinkle in her eyes. The demon instinctively lowed his gaze, fixing it on his sandals.

“Oh don´t be so nervous. I´m not going to persecute you. Nakshatra. What a beautiful name! kashaf said you´ve bestowed it upon yourself?”, she continued. He nodded in agreement.

They further discussed the wages and his living arrangements which he readily consented to. He was given permission to start at the earliest- to shift his belongings, if he had any, to the cottage. He thanked them, did an `adaab` and took their leave. Kashaf smiled her brightest smile and winked at him playfully. He was going to like her very much, he decided.

He settled into the scantily furnished but neat and cosy cottage by the afternoon and surveyed the garden. It was obviously well-kept but the plants were lagging behind in their lustre at the lack of attention. With a little bit of discipline, he´d be able to make them lush and verdant in no time. He had a simple meal provided to him from the kitchens so as to avoid raising suspicions and got settled for the night. Incessant thoughts ran through his mind eventually leading him to a restless sort of sleep.

It was early morning ( _pratham prahar_ ) to a serene melody ringing through the haveli. It seemed that Shaukat Begum was performing her ` _riyaz_ ` (practice). It was just her cool, soft voice trailing through the surroundings accompanied by a tanpura. The demon, whenever he indulged in sleep, was not a fan of early rising- but the calm of the atmosphere and the beautiful music ceased his grumbling at once.

“Jaago mohan pyaare, tum jaago mohan pyaare…

Sanvari surat more mann bhave…” *[link to the song](https://youtu.be/TJQPA_pbwnc)

It was- as he would learn later that day from Kashaf, an ancient early morning song in raag bhairav. The lyrics mainly depicted the emotions of a mother (here, Jashoda- mother of Lord Krishna) was waking him up with tremendous love and care in the morning and urging him to start his day of work.

He went outside and walked on the dewy lawn bare-feet. It was a tingling sensation; the smell of grass, humming of little birds in the trees, cool breeze blowing through his hair, the crispy freshness of the morning sky tinged with pinkish and orangish hues trading through the blues- it was breath-taking. It reminded him of a certain angel. How he loved early morning walks through the park!

Crowley had accompanied him several times, although grumbling at him for his choice of wee hours of the morning (internally very delighted- but never showing it to the angel; which he very likely knew as he kept inviting the demon). He thought how wonderfully satisfying it would be if Aziraphale was here, he could awake him with those soft hands in his hair, soothing voice and promises of further affections! If only!

***

TBC

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
> Jaago mohan pyaare is a traditional thumri sung in hindustani classical music.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now continued from chapter 5
> 
> this is after a few day that Crowley has been at the haveli as the gardener.

Crowley was working in the backyard gardens when he first heard the ghazal. He was tending to a bush of Mogra (Arabian Jasmin), cutting of the dead branches and trimming the lush ones to make it verdant up to his very high standards. If the Mogra did not bloom to his satisfaction, he´d be very cross. In order to make himself clear, he pointed and cackled the shearing scissors in front of the plant. It shivered in response. He was about to yell at it more before turning to hibiscus when the lyrics hit him.

“Mere humnafas, mere humnawa, mujhe dost ban ke dagaa na de…

Main hu dard-e-ishq se jan-ba-lab, mujhe zindagi ki dua na de…” **[* link to the song](https://youtu.be/XYgG6SiX7ZE)**

He stilled on the spot, concentrating on the lyrics as prophets did on The Gospel. Each line cut through him like a dagger dipped in holy water. Deep, strong and precise, transporting him back to the day before the angel opened his bookshop. He´d been helping Aziraphale organize the books on the newly minted shelves. The stubborn angel had wanted everything to be done the human way, without miracles. So, there they were, toiling away, shelving hundreds of tomes collected by the angel through millennia. After Aziraphale had bought the place, he´d wanted most affluent, antique and rustic décor suitable to his special bookstore and had been fretting about it. He had been anxious, fussy and irritable and Crowley was in love with him; both failing royally at controlling their emotions. Hence, the demon had gone forward and commissioned the best designers and carpenters who´d work relentlessly under the demon´s strict observation to design the interior of the store before the angel would burst. Crowley knew his (well not technically yet, but one can only hope) angel´s style with impeccable perfection. It comes rather easily if you´ve been in love with someone for the better part of 6000 years and have been observing their tiniest movements like a hawk.

Aziraphale had been ecstatic by it; marvelling every column, plinth, wallpaper and furniture. They´d gone celebrating at a fancy French restaurant. After the incident at the Bastille, the angel preferred to indulge in French cuisine as less as possible until he would be able to pop across the channel freely again. What a ghastly business it had been! He couldn´t wait for it to be over. For the dessert he´d opted for crème brûleé. As usual, Crowley had forgone the dessert opting for darkest coffee that they served. But still the waiter had placed the decadent dish in the centre of the table with two spoons. Crowley had visibly flustered which went unnoticed by the angel when confronted with rich delicacy. It soothed and unnerved the demon in equal measures. Sometimes he´d think that the angel was likely ignore if Satan himself came to bring forth the Apocalypse whilst he was busy with food.

After the shelving they had retired to the back room of the premises to commence their regular alcoholic affair. They´d each polished off three bottles at least, both buzzing with pleasant tingling. Wine made Aziraphale relatively loose lipped, and Crowley courageous. They were perched on the sofa; the angel trying very hard to sit all prim and proper and the demon sprawled on the other end with his feet a hair´s breath away from the angel´s thighs. He was concentrating as much as he could not to stick them under the warmth of Zira´s legs.

“My dear boy, I suppose I forgot to thank you for today. Helping me shvel…sheevl…put the books away. And also, for before! The interior looks asbo…aboslu…very antique-ky!”, he finished lamely; a clear sign of inebriation.

“Mmm…don´t mention it, angel! Was nothin´!”

“No. no my dear. On the con…contr…contrary”, he chuckled a little at small victory, “it was everything! You know me soooooo well.”

Crowley hiccupped in reply. Taking it as a sign to continue, the angel added, “You´re such a good friend to me Crowley! No one is so good to me as you are.”

Crowley as a rule would vehemently deny being good if he wasn´t so hurt at the word _friend_. Friends??? Seriously!!! That´s what they were after so many years? Oh yes, friends did that, right? Rescuing his sorry arse from time to time! Commissioning a whole fucking bookshop interior. Gifting little knickknacks from wherever and whenever he´d find them, taking him to all the grandest places to eat, indulge them in greatest delicacies of all times even though he didn´t partake! Coming at a moment´s notice to help organize a thousand fucking books the hard way because someone stupidly thinks using miracles on precious books would damage them! Yes Friends…

Seeing as Crowley did not deny his goodness, Zira felt something was off with the demon. “My dear?”, he reached forward to place his hand on Crowley’s ankles. But before he could touch the demon jerked, sitting ramrod straight on the sofa- which the angel thought was impossible before now. So, he scooted closer, placing his glass on the carpet; turning fully towards the demon. He could not discern the demon´s eyes- those dammed glasses, but the crinkle of the brow, lips stretched in to a thin line, curved down slightly and jaw gone taut were indications enough.

He gingerly reached out to place his hands on the demon´s but stopped halfway, leaving it awkwardly hanging between them. And how Crowley starved with desire for him to reach out! Aziraphale chose words instead, “Did I say something wrong? Are we not…friends?”

The hurt now turned to cold fury and bitterness in Crowley´s stomach. How could the angel be so naïve? So ignorant? Aren´t they supposed to sense things like this? Being the ´beings of love´? How many subtle and some not-so-subtle hints could he miss? The dark-haired demon could understand that Aziraphale would have qualms about acknowledging anything in public (they had to keep up appearance after all) but the least he could do is say something in private. When there were just the two of them! It´s not like their Head Offices were watching! They´d had the Arrangement for hundreds of years now. It would be so much better if the angel just dropped the façade for once and tell him to fuck right off! Not keep him lingering around, sitting still. Sitting still was more of the angel´s pace and Crowley was so very, very exhausted of that.

“Oh yes. That´s what we are, Angel.”, he said stoically. The ´angel´ no longer a term of endearment, just a fact. “You´re right. That´s what we are. Friends. And always will be.” Crowley slammed the empty glass on the table nearby and walked out the door.

The song ended bringing him back to present. He was standing in the garden, his cheeks stained with incessant tears he didn't know he had been shedding; blurring his vision. He didn't notice Kashaf was in the garden picking hibiscus from the adjacent shrub. But his state didn't escape the ever-vigilant eyes of the girl who'd started to become more and more of a close friend. She plucked out the scissors from his hand, reaching out on her tip toes to wipe off the tears from his face. A broken sign escaped from Crowley's lips. She said nothing. Asked nothing. If she had an idea about what Crowley was going through or if she'd speculations of her own, she never voiced them. She just listened to some vague and errant details that the demon had let slip by. Still on her toes, to compensate for the height difference without much success, she enveloped him into a huge hug. The demon had gradually started to take comfort in her small gestures of affection that were bestowed quite generously. His touch starved corporation had learnt to bask in these freely parted actions with more gratefulness than he could ever express.

***

TBC

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ghazal meaning:  
> "Your counting me as a friend, when I consider you my life itself, feels nothing short of a betrayal  
> This love has brought me to the brink of a beautiful death, don't, oh please don't pray that I stay well. "


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the demon get what he wants. the beginning of the long awaited musical journey is here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not extremely satisfied with this chapter but it furthers the plot, so was necessary.
> 
> again, thankyou (the 5 readers!) for accompanying me in this journey. And apologies for such a late update! hope you enjoy!! lots of love!

A few days after Crowley had been working in the gardens, familiarizing himself with the people and the place; he had been starting to get anxious for the main reason he was there. Everything had been going smoothly until now and on one hand, the demon did not want to get hasty and ruin the plan; on the other, he wanted to smash into the main hall during the riyaaz and lay bare his demands. If he used his occult power, Shaukat Begum would be inclined very much to agree to break the orthodox barrier, being none the wiser- which could count as a temptation and might alert his office. They were not deliberately looking for him at this point, so why ruffle the feathers of Satan´s wings unnecessarily (metaphorical ones of course).

But the Serpent did have the devil´s luck by his side, that evening after the performances were done, he got an unexpected visit from his only friend at the Haveli. He was lounging on the `jhula` (handmade swing) outside in the quaint courtyard of his house when he heard a quiet hustle of the shrubs. His serpent senses altered at the moment´s notice but the fear subsided as he smelled the familiar `itra` (perfume) of Mogra adorned by Kashaf.

“I am here on the swing.”, he called out.

After a little more hustle and bustle, the familiar shape of his friend came to light. She was carrying a lantern with her that made her countenance glow in the faint yellow of the light along with the cadence of premature evening colours on the brink of dusk. She had obviously changed from the ornate dress of the performance and was devoid of the heavy jewellery.

“How did you know it was me?”, she asked the obvious. The demon scoffed in return. His signature quirk of a raised single eyebrow was left unnoticed in the shadow.

“So… what gives?”

“Nothing. Can´t I visit the most cherished garden and its creator?”, she retorted. The demon´s lips twinged a bit upwards, controlled before they can form semblance of something more. It was nearly impossible to get a straight answer from her; and Crowley loved it. This was a game he could play- he had practically invented it.

“Don´t you think it is a bit scandalous for a young girl as yourself to visit a lowly worker at this hour?”

“Maybe. But isn´t it a gentleman´s prerogative to entertain a lady in his abode?”

“So, you´re saying that you´re a _lady_?”, he raised an eyebrow.

“Are _you_ a _gentleman_?”, she raised one in return and chuckled after a moment.

Before Crowley could reply, she plopped herself on the swing where the demon was sprawled before and continued, “Look I do not have much time today. There´s good news and bad news. Bad news is that I did not get an opportunity to speak to apaa (Shaukat) about the issue. And I don´t think I will get an opportunity in the near future where I can anticipate a positive response. But the good news is that I have a plan. You will have to get up at dawn. I will come here before my riyaaz and start teaching you the basics of Kathak in the backyard of the hut. That way, we´ll be able to keep it clandestine for the time being. Do you agree? I promise I´ll be a good teacher. I have been learning it since I was a child.”

The demon was absolutely delighted at the prospect. He´d seen Kashaf dance. Why wouldn´t he be happy learning from her? This time a genuine smile graced his sharp features. He felt a strong urge to hug Kashaf but he was still not comfortable initiating physical affection. Sixty centuries of touch deficiency was hard to deal with. Crowley remembered how he had jumped the first time Kashaf had tried to hold his hand just to guide him to show the gardens after his recruitment. Her excitement was ruined when Crowley flinched like he had burned from the simple touch. It had taken some time to for him to be less skittish around the girl.

Very much to his awe, Kashaf had shown tremendous understanding and patience in their dealings, that too without being overtly inquiring about his past. Crowley knew that it had to be testing for her, a human who was a mere child considering her age compared to the occult entity, to be so much thoughtful and kind without any ulterior motive. The compassion was clearly overwhelming for him- being a demon did not leave room for such sentiments. She had readily accepted his vague explanations about his former life; respected his privacy when sensed his discomfort in divulging the details. Crowley was well aware of her curious nature and how she had declared herself as his sole friend and confidante, how she restricted herself so as to be careful of his ease.

He nodded emphatically, “Yes. Yes. Of course, I will learn from you! You are my Guru now.” His voice croaked infinitesimally, caught by the ever sharp Kashaf.

“Then you will have to pay me ´ _gurudakshina_ ´ too!”, she opted to lighten the atmosphere.

“Name and you shall have it!”

“Not now. I will, when the time is right. It has to be a blank cheque.”, came the amusing answer.

Crowley agreed to the terms readily. They bid goodbyes for the night, making an appointment for the next day.

***

Crowley was up at before dawn, awaiting his guru for the first lesson. At the first voice of the azaan, true to her word, she was there; clad in simple white salwar kameez with one pair of ghunghroos with her. Crowley was in his usual black attire. Morning greetings were exchanged with adaab.

“Someone is happy!”

“Well, it is a beautiful morning, guruji! Am I to call you guruji?”

“You can if you want to. But only during the sessions. Not in public, it will blow our cover.”

“Duh. This is not my first clandestine mission!”

“Ooh, which other undercover mission has the country boy Nakshatra been a part of?”, Crowley immediately regretted the slip up.

“Ngh. No other. I have read books. I may be a country boy but I´m not illiterate.”, he snapped, hoping it was enough to put a lid on the topic. Thankfully, it was.

“Okay smarty-pants. First, we will start with the Namaskar. It is a respectful tribute to the gods and our guru on the part of the dancers. Every session starts and ends with one. It is very simple as you will see. Then we will proceed with some basic theory and history of Kathak. Also, these ghunghroos are for you, but you will not dance with them until I say you are ready.”

“Alright.”

They proceeded to perform the Namaskar and then Kashaf was seated on an alleviated seat- similar to an ottoman and Crowley perched cross-legged on the ground on a straw matt. It is ancient Indian tradition that the guru was always seated higher than the pupil as an act of deference on the part of the student. Also, it indicated the level of the knowledge of teacher with respect to the students.

Thus, began the first tutoring session of Crowley in the art of Kathak. He learnt that it started with the traveling bards in the regions of northern India who used to tell the tales in form of songs and dance, known as ` _kathaakars_ ´. The name Kathak originated from the Vedic Sanskrit word of ` _kathaa_ ` meaning a story. It was equally intriguing and fascinating for the demon who marvelled at the innovativeness of the humans yet again. Throughout the history, there were times when he loathed humans for their innate capacity of evil. When he despised them for the massacres and genocides and so much ugliness. But this was one of those times when he loved them for their penchant of creativity and ingenuity.

The hour passed in a blink. At the first bells of the morning aarti at the nearby temple rang through the air, Kashaf terminated the session with a Namaskar. Crowley wanted to thank her for what she was doing solely for his benefit; again, finding himself tongue-tied. He had never been good with verbose sentiments; it was more of the angel´s forte. The irony of that with being the First Tempter was not lost on him. But this, this was not a job, not a temptation. It was personal.

“See you at the same time tomorrow, Nakshatra!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not added too much history of the origin of Kathak (it would be too long and too boring in the context of the story), but for those of you who wish to know more i am posting a wikipedia link here which is conclusive and contains all the basics.  
> https://www.google.com/search?q=history+of+kathak&rlz=1C1CHBF_enDE875DE875&oq=history+of+kathak&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l6.4865j1j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8


End file.
